Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who's waited for my muse to return – Supernatural is to blame for her lengthy absence.
Chapter 4
"Happy birthday!"
Claire heard Sheila chuckling on the other end of the line.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
"What are your plans for your day off?" Claire put the call on speaker phone and poured herself a cup of coffee.
"I'm going to spend it being productive," Sheila answered. "Do some cleaning, plant new herbs, weed the garden. I've neglected it lately."
Claire hummed as she took a sip of her coffee. She was once more reminded that the older one got, the less need there was to make a big deal out of birthdays. Usually, anyway, and it was true for both herself and Sheila. She looked out the kitchen window at the garden bathed in early morning sunlight.
"You'll be done by five?" she asked. "We're going out."
Sheila laughed softly. "Where to?"
Claire thought for a moment. "Wickery Pond."
"It's been years since I last went to Wickery Pond," the older woman returned.
"I know." Claire allowed herself a small smile. "I haven't been there in some time, either." She finished her coffee and discarded her cup in the sink. "I'll pick you up at five."
"I will see you then," Sheila replied.
•
As she pulled up in front of 2136 Oak Street, Claire glanced at the clock on the dashboard out of habit. A minute and something to five. She turned off the engine. She was about to dial Sheila's number when the front door opened.
The woman in question and her granddaughter appeared. Bonnie gave her grandmother a hug before turning and walking down the porch steps. Claire rolled down the passenger window.
"Hi, Claire." Bonnie hoisted the strap of her school bag higher on her shoulder. Behind her, Sheila went into the house, leaving the door ajar.
"How are you, Bonnie?"
"Fine, thanks." Bonnie's eyes glinted. "Taking Grams out?"
One corner of Claire's mouth twitched. "If I'd left her to her own devices, she would've spent the whole day at home."
Bonnie chuckled. "She would." She glanced down the street. "I better get going. See ya."
Claire acknowledged the goodbye with a nod of her own and turned to look back at the house. Sheila was at the door again, pulling it shut after her.
"How was your day?" Claire asked as she got in the car.
"Ordinary." Sheila fastened her seat-belt. "I'm content I managed to get things done. Yours?"
Claire turned the key in the ignition. "Same as always, nothing exceptional."
She drove toward Wickery Bridge, getting off the road after the last houses were left behind. The dirt track she followed led toward the river. Wickery Pond was near the far end of a clearing. Set against the green and brown surroundings, Claire's car was a vivid splash of metallic blue color. It was the only vehicle there. Not unexpected – the pond was more popular during winter, when it froze over.
Claire parked. She reached behind her seat, retrieving a blanket that she smoothed on the ground near the water. The two women settled, looking beyond the pond where bushes congregated to meet the river-banks.
"Oh." Claire suddenly jumped to her feet and made for the car. A few moments of shifting things in the back, and she had candles on the small cake. Paper bag slung on one arm, she picked up the dessert and straightened, pausing for a second before turning around.
"Happy birthday to you . . ."
A slow smile reached Sheila's eyes as she looked at the little flames.
"Make a wish and blow them out."
Sheila chuckled but blew out her candles. Claire emptied the paper bag, setting a couple of disposable plates, spoons, paper cups and a bottle on the blanket by the cake. She proffered Sheila the knife.
"What happened with your dreams?" Sheila asked after a few minutes of their eating in silence.
Claire lowered her spoon. "They've stopped. But that going from vivid to more vague when I was awake and back again . . ." She let out a breath. "I felt like a broken radio that's trying to tune into a station."
Sheila gave a curt gesture of her head, eyebrows drawing together. "At least there haven't been any more attacks."
"Yeah . . ." Claire mirrored her frown. She tapped the spoon in her plate. "Has anything like this ever happened to you?"
"The broken radio?" At Claire's nonverbal confirmation, Sheila shook her head. "No, but I've never really had dreams like these, either."
Claire nodded slowly, forehead creasing.
•
Her nights continued to be dream-free, something for which Claire was grateful. With no dream-flashes puncturing her day, the only thing that continued to bother her was Logan's taking an interest in Jenna again. Claire had always prided herself in having good instincts when it came to people, and this didn't sit well with her. Still, having made her general thoughts known to her best friend — twice — she refrained from badgering her. When the evening of the scheduled dinner arrived, she wished Jenna good luck and resolved to wait until the next day for details.
She called her during school recess.
"So, how did your dinner with Logan go?"
"He was on his best behavior," Jenna answered. "Tried hard to get back into my good graces, was very careful with his words."
As she went on to describe their evening, Claire could picture the whole thing clearly. "Did you believe him?"
There was a moment of silence before Jenna sighed. "I don't know. But he did go above and beyond."
Claire couldn't help snorting. "First impressions are important." She released her breath slowly. "Just be careful. You've been down this rabbit hole before."
"I know," Jenna said on a sigh. Another brief silence. "I'll see you at the car wash?"
"Probably, if you get there after school," Claire answered.
•
It was almost 4:30 p.m. when Jenna pulled into the school parking lot. Claire raised a hand to get her attention.
"Logan's setting up for his coverage," she said by way of greeting, gesturing toward the other end of the lot.
Jenna made a non-committal sound. "I still haven't decided whether I believe him or not." She leaned against the table Claire was sitting at, crossing her ankles. "Elena looks happier than I have seen her in a long time."
Claire followed her gaze to said teenager washing a car in the distance, and the boy she was with. "I take it that's Stefan." She caught Jenna's nod in her peripheral vision rather than heard her hum of confirmation. "Looks like a good kid."
"Looks like," Jenna agreed, one corner of her mouth curving upward slightly.
Claire's attention was drawn to a spot beyond the couple. "Oh, my Fit's ready." She picked up her bag, and her gaze flicked in the direction of the WPKW9 van. "Show's starting."
Jenna turned to look, seeing Logan setting up. She raised an eyebrow, turning back to Claire, who had got to her feet. "Talk to you later."
"Bye." Claire fought a small urge to laugh at the expression on Jenna's face.
The girl at the counter smiled brightly as she gave her back her car keys. Claire told her to keep the change. A sudden warmth made her look up from her bag, and she scanned the area. Her gaze landed on familiar faces. Barely a split second later, a squeal drew her attention just in time for her to catch sight of a geyser-like column of water and a drenched teenager. As the girl began to calm, Claire looked at Bonnie Bennett again. She adjusted her grip on her keys and turned away, making for her car.
Her phone rang after she had returned home. Settled comfortably in her lap, Cicero protested his being moved so that Claire could go get it. He reclaimed his spot as soon as she sat on the sofa again.
"Have you seen Bonnie today?"
It was Sheila.
Claire knew she wasn't calling just to make small talk. "At the car wash, yeah."
"Was she alright?"
The note of worry in Sheila's voice was faint but not imperceptible.
Claire understood. "As far as I could see, she looked fine. I don't know if anything else happened after I left."
She heard Sheila sigh.
"Car on fire, but it only lasted for a few seconds and no-one got hurt. She was the only one who saw."
There was a long moment of silence.
"I expect she'll come when she's ready," Sheila continued.
Claire kept thinking about those words after they had hung up. She recalled what Sheila had told her about her Occult studies class. Most picked it because it seemed cool. Bonnie might have thought the same, but deep down she had begun to believe. After the initial shock wore off, she would take action.
•
The night was clear, and the woods were quiet. Claire watched the man moving through the trees. Something glinted in his hand. A momentary flash of dull gold, but his back was to her, and Claire couldn't make out what it was. The man himself seemed familiar, though — his height, the way he carried himself. Even so, she couldn't quite put her finger on his identity.
With one long look at the thing he was holding, the man stopped and pulled out his phone. Claire wasn't close enough to hear what was being said. The call was brief. He began moving again.
And then they were in the old cemetery, near the Salvatore crypt. The man slowed down, picking his footsteps with care. Too late Claire realized he had a gun in his hand. The sound echoed hollowly, making her jump, and the man in front of them fell. She squinted, trying to bring his face into focus, but the shadows made it impossible. The girl beside him was panicking. Claire couldn't make out her face, either.
The man she had been following was raising what looked like a blunt block of wood over the other's heart. The girl screamed.
Then everything shifted and there was another man beside the one on the ground. He seemed to pose no threat. Even though she couldn't distinguish his features, Claire thought he somehow looked familiar. Both men turned to look somewhere in the near distance. Claire followed their gaze. The young girl was bent over a body.
Before she could take in any specifics, Claire woke up. She lay still for a few moments, waiting for the last vestiges of sleep to fade. The room was still dark. A glance at her phone told her she had half an hour before her morning alarm went off. Settling into her pillow, she replayed the dream in her mind.
It was the most detailed one she'd had since September. Claire knew there were bits of it missing, but still. Unlike the others, it hadn't left her with a sense of dread upon waking. It had almost felt . . . normal.
Even so, as the morning wore on, Claire found herself on alert, eager to catch up on the news. When she got home after an uneventful day at work, she saw what had made the headlines. Three bodies were found in the old cemetery, burned beyond recognition.
She frowned. First, deaths attributed to a mountain lion, and now this. It was too much. Thinking back on everything, Claire realized why. The news reports of the animal attacks had lacked mentions of bite wounds on parts other than the neck and of lacerations consistent with claw marks. And the bodies . . . Burning them to cover up a drug deal gone wrong seemed like overkill.
This long trail of dead people in just two months, in Mystic Falls . . . It sounded more plausible to assume that a sadistic serial killer had decided to stalk a little town.
That reasoning couldn't explain the attacks in the past decades, however. Another serial killer, using the same methods, in the same area — this area — was too much of a coincidence. Claire's train of thought shifted suddenly. The figure of her great-grandmother dominated her consciousness, memories of a summer in France when she and Diane were still children, long-ago words ringing in her ears. She froze. It would make sense.
A flash of movement beside her startled her, her breath catching in her throat. Cicero settled into her lap. Her heartbeat slowing, Claire stroked the kitten's fur reflexively. Yes, that would make sense.
•
She didn't dream that night — or at least she had no recollection of dreaming.
Over the next days, the only things out of the ordinary were the disappearance of Vicki Donovan and Logan Fell's leaving town. Search parties had been sent out to find Vicki, to no result. Logan had sent an email informing Jenna of his departure. She had been indignant, muttering about cowards and impersonal behavior.
Claire's meeting with Sheila on Monday afternoon was another small break from routine, if only for its nature.
"Bonnie stayed over," Sheila said when Claire settled on the couch. "We talked occult and family history the whole weekend."
Claire gave a small nod and a hum. "I imagine she was relieved to get some answers."
"She was, and she was eager to skip the facts and do things right away. I think your family history might have kept her a little more interested." Sheila's eyes glinted, an eyebrow rising slightly.
One corner of Claire's mouth twitched upward. "Maybe we'll get there, some time."
•
The rest of Halloween Month passed in an almost-whirlwind of preparations for the school party. Between the general excitement and animated discussions about costumes, Claire found herself enjoying the process. The decorating committee had had the ingenious idea to set up the annual Haunted House throughout much of the building instead of limiting it to the gym like in past years. Being the art teacher, Claire acted as supervisor to the proceedings, lending a hand whenever necessary.
The features and layout of the Haunted House were decided upon after a lengthy debate. Figuring out the finer details proved to be a much easier task. After that, there were pumpkins to be carved and signs to be painted, props to be found and scenery to be readied. Like clockwork, by the end of the month everything had been assembled and stored. On Saturday morning before the party, all that was left was to finish setting up.
Claire was the first to arrive. The decorating committee came not long afterward, and soon props and scenery were being carried and placed to their designed places.
Claire's phone rang near noon. She put the finishing touches on the iron maiden in her art classroom, which was converted into a medieval torture chamber, before answering.
It was Jenna.
"Still at school?"
Going out into the hall, Claire picked up a handmade sign, its letters dripping red paint. "Yeah, I'm still helping set up for tonight." She stuck it to the classroom door.
"Have you changed your mind about the costume?"
"No." Claire could picture Jenna shaking her head at her answer.
"I swear you're the only person who's never dressed up as a witch for Halloween."
Claire moved a chair against the wall. "Diane hasn't either," she pointed out. "There are much more fun costumes to wear." She reached up, sticking fake cobwebs above the locker beside her.
There was a short pause. Then —
"Are you sure you can't get out of this and come to the party with Andie and me?" Jenna sounded hopeful.
Claire chuckled. "No, I can't get out of chaperoning." Farther down the corridor, she placed a carved pumpkin on a table. "It's not as boring as you might think, not on Halloween. And I should send you photos of my classroom — it's turned out beautifully."
One of the students helping with the decorations nearby turned to look at her, grinning at the expression on Claire's face.
"I don't doubt it." Jenna's smile was audible in her voice. "We'll catch up afterward, then. Have fun, Corpse Bride."
Claire laughed. "You, too, Mina."
She put her phone away, still smiling, and made her way to the gym to see how the decorating process was going along.
•
By the time seven thirty rolled around, Claire was ready and putting the finishing touches on her face. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was once again amazed at how she managed to pull off that bluish-white tint. Not to mention she'd never worn that much make-up before. The hole in the cheek looked really good, though. Picking up her bag, she went downstairs just as the doorbell rang.
When they saw her, the fairy and the pirate waiting on the porch outside faltered mid-sentence in their Trick-or-Treat chant.
"Cool face!" The blond boy looked up at Claire, his eyes shining.
Already smiling, Claire was reaching for the candy by the door. "Thank you. You are a fierce pirate yourself. And you are a very pretty fairy."
The sandy-haired girl's cheeks turned pink as she glanced up from her candy bag. Then, offering boisterous goodbyes, the two kids made toward the street.
Claire waved at their waiting parents and went back inside. A couple of minutes later, she left the house. The sky was dark, dusk giving way to night. The groups of trick-or-treaters were slowly increasing. Taking in the street-lights and the moon rising overhead as she began walking, Claire felt a flutter in her chest. The energy all around was almost palpable.
There weren't many people about when she got to the school. Martin was the first to spot her. He gave her an appreciative smile.
"Love the forehead bruise. No wig?" he asked when Claire reached him.
She tugged at a cerulean strand of clip-in hair. "Wigs are itchy. The navy-blue of the eighteenth century suits you."
Martin looked down at his naval officer's costume, eyes glinting, and then up again as a group of teenage angels and skeletons walked through the door.
"Ready for punch duty?"
"Yes, I am." Claire smoothed her gloves at the elbows.
Martin's eyebrows rose, a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. "You gotta be the first teacher to ever volunteer for this."
Claire shrugged. "It's an easy way to keep track of those outside."
He considered that for a moment. "True."
Another small party of kids arrived, and Claire glanced around the room.
"I have to get my punch stand ready." She gave the pearl-white fabric of her dress a quick twitch and gestured Martin goodbye.
Setting up the outdoor bar was an easy task — a matter of lining up bowls and glasses, bottles and cans of fizzy drinks. Even though night had fallen in earnest, it was still quiet by the time Claire had finished. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. The air was cool on her face. She could hear the nocturnal insects. Once again, she felt energy pulsing around her.
All too soon, however, that moment of calm passed. As the evening wore on, a steady stream of highschoolers and adults alike stopped at the makeshift bar. Cheerful and talkative, they kept her busy.
Claire's brief tenure as bartender took an interesting turn while a trio of druids and witch waited for their drinks.
"We should definitely try it," the redhead druid said. "The book makes it seem so easy."
"Do you remember it?" the witch asked.
Curling her fingers around her cup, the redhead considered for a moment. "It's . . . dēfūncta anima tē vocāmos."
"Vocāmus." Claire lowered the ladle into the cauldron-shaped punch bowl and slid the last plastic cup toward the girls. "You thinking of summoning a relative?"
"Yes." "You know Latin?" All three teenagers were staring at her.
Claire glanced from one to the others. "I learned Latin during my college days," she addressed the witch first and then turned to the two druids. "You should be careful with all that, you know. On a night like this, it might just be more than feasible."
The blond druid raised an eyebrow.
"It's Halloween. The barrier between the world of the living and the dead is thinner today; unexplainable things can happen. That's what is said, anyway," Claire continued.
"You believe we can do it?" The girl appeared earnest.
"It's Halloween," Claire said again.
Following the exchange, the dark-haired witch of the group tried to suppress a smirk.
Claire felt the corners of her own mouth quirk. "What?"
"You just don't strike me as the supernatural-believing type, Ms. Duval." The teenager was looking at her more closely.
Claire took a second and then shrugged. "Simple curiosity. It's interesting stuff."
The girl nodded. "Well, thanks." She raised her cup, and all three turned on their heels.
Claire watched them go. She flexed her fingers, pulled her gloves up her elbows and settled to wait for more thirsty party-goers.
The rest of the night was uneventful. Leaving her post for a few minutes to go to the bathroom, she realized just how right she had been to want to do the outside chaperoning. The music inside the school building was almost deafening. The pulsing strobe lights would have guaranteed a headache, and the air felt stuffy. Claire could now say she understood those suffering from agoraphobia.
Stepping outside was like stepping into another world. Claire stood and took a deep breath before making for the punch bar. The people milling about were growing fewer.
She looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of a frowning face, blue eyes staring ahead as the man bumped her shoulder on his determined march past her. The force of the impact jostled her. Biting wintry cold spread from her arm toward her chest, and the glare forming on her face melted away. She recalled her grandmother's words. Le gel de la mort. At the time Héloïse had spoken of something neither she nor any of her family had experienced. This felt like the frost of death, indeed. The man who had watched her class on the first day of school . . . Claire stared toward the direction in which he had disappeared. Death . . . The new realization had her rubbing her arms reflexively. For just a moment she wondered what had made him so agitated. Better to not know, her consciousness decreed.
Slowly, she began walking again.
Chapter 4 soundtrack
• Race You, Elizabeth & The Catapult — Claire and Sheila at Wickery pond
• What More Do You Want, Plain White Ts — at the high school car wash fundraiser
• Creep, Radiohead — Claire helps decorate the school for Halloween
• One More Murder, Better than Ezra — Claire talks to the girls at the punch table
• Doomsday, Murray Gold — Damon bumps into Claire